Ice Will Melt
by Smeagolia
Summary: "I touched my chest as I went, the spot right over my heart. And I knew, that though it would most likely refreeze, ice will melt."


**A/N: Reviews would be appreciated! ;)**

I felt like someone cut me open, dunked me in lemon juice, replaced my blood with fire, and then sewed me up with a white-hot needle.

"You have failed me once again, Bellatrix Lestrange. I'm terribly disappointed in you." The high-pitched voice of Lord Voldemort was nonchalant. How could anyone be so nonchalant when I was in so much pain? I guess I deserved this. My Lord wouldn't give me this if I didn't deserve this.

A glass-shattering scream escaped my lips. The agony… As suddenly as the pain had started it stopped and I found myself lying flat on my back on the hard wooden ground of my brother-in-law's manor. My chest heaved. I glanced at my Lord, a dark cloaked figure on the chair, but I quickly averted my gaze in shame. I scrambled to my feet, tears pricking my eyes.

"My Lord," I rasped, my voice breaking. "I will be forever in your debt, if only you could forgive me," I froze mid breath when he held up a white spidery hand. I wrung my hands, turning my face up towards him, but never daring to meet his eyes.

"Must," He said icily. "Must I remind you that you are already in my debt? I have forgiven you too many times, Bellatrix, and my patience is running thin." He rose to his feet, and I skittered like the scared mouse I was out of his way. "Get out of my sight, Bellatrix. Before I decide to kill you." He was not joking. I knew he would do it. A tear of shame slid down my cheek. I had failed him.

I fled from the manor.

* * *

I strode down the street, scowling at the Christmas lights on every store and building. _Have all the fun you can now, you stupid muggles. The Dark Lord with me, his most devoted Death Eater, at his side, will rid us of you soon._

I was bored to the core, and too depressed for wreaking havoc. Sighing, I trudged through the streets, which were already near vacant. It was 7:00 pm on Christmas Eve; everyone had probably gone home to their families.

I spat on the ground. It sickened me, the stupid filth that dirtied this world. And to think, those _things_ forced wizards and witches, obviously the higher species here, into hiding! "My Lord will change that." I said aloud. I tipped back my head and cackled. I shook a fist at a lone man across the road, sweeping the porch of a little coffee shop. "The Dark Lord will put an end to you! To all of you! You don't belong here, none of you bits of scum on the bottom of my shoe do! Goodbye and good riddance!" I called. The man's face eyes widened and he dashed inside, locking the door behind him. Ha! Like that could stop me!

I laughed, and my voice echoed eerily through the dark streets, like a forgotten fury, rallied up again. Ah, the joys of being evil.

I glanced at a wall clock through the window of a gift shop. I doubted my Lord's temper would have cooled down just yet. I decided to get some little present for Cissa for Christmas. Wow. A Death Eater shopping for Christmas gifts. I really _was_ bored.

After snooping around a bit, I settled on a box of Christmas cookies. Ready for a little fun, I held the box in plain sight and charged towards the exit without paying. The sensors beeped angrily as I passed and pushed the door open.

"Hey!" The clerk protested, jumping up from his seat and running after me. I laughed hysterically and shrieked, "Come and get me!" The clerk chased me about a block before he decided it wasn't worth it for a box of cookies. I slowed to walk, humming to myself and nibbling one of the peanut butter cookies I knew Narcissa didn't like.

I halted when I spotted a blank brick wall, on the side of a building, right next to an empty lot. Grinning to myself, I whipped out my wand and aimed it at the wall. I murmured a spell, and spray paint spurted from the tip. Ten minutes later, the formerly blank wall sported the words, "Long live the Dark Lord!" in letters red like fury.

As I stood back to admire my masterpiece, I felt a light tug on the back of my cloak. I turned, looking down and raising an eyebrow at the little muggle boy that stood there. He looked about five or six years old, and wore dirty overalls with ripped knees and frayed hems. The boy's filthy brown hair was in need of a trim and his face was grubby and bruised. His feet were bare and brown with grime and caked with dried mud. I glanced around for his parents but there was no one but me and him.

His broad smile wavered under my cruel gaze, but he turned and reached into the rusty dented bucket as his side, as far as I could see, his only possession. He lifted out a paper snowflake, the kind you make with folded paper and scissors as an arts and crafts project. The child held up his snowflake to me. "Merry Christmas ma'am."

And I looked at the boy. A muggle. But a muggle who had nothing, yet still found something to give. A muggle who finds joy in giving his little homemade gifts, expecting nothing in return but the knowledge that he did something good. And I looked at that boy, holding out his snowflake to me, a woman in which evil and hate rolled off in waves like heat from a fire. And in that moment, a drop of badness fell from the ice that was my heart, forced out by the light of good, like an icicle melting in the sun.

I reached out tentatively, like a baby bird breaking through the safety of its egg. The boy held up the snowflake, inviting me to take it. My fingers made contact with the thin paper and I held it up to examine it. The snowflake was damp and the edges were jagged and uneven, but it was nevertheless a beautiful thing, the story behind it.

I slipped the snowflake carefully into my cloak and I remembered the box of cookies under my arm. I shoved the box into the child's arm, mumbling a "Merry Christmas." They were mostly peanut butter anyway. I spun on my heel and strode away without looking back.

I touched my chest as I went, the spot right over my heart. And I knew, that though it would most likely refreeze, ice will melt.


End file.
